In the Light of the Moon
by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa
Summary: As their world burns, Regis and Clarus dance. Clarus/Regis


**In the Light of the Moon**

 **By** : Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

 **Author Notes** : This is a bit... angsty. Sorry...

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 **In the Light of the Moon**

It was quiet in the Citadel, late enough for the day staff to have scurried home, while early enough for the moon to yet crest across the sky, shattering its light against the wall.

Regis loved to watch the moon rise in the sky, always chasing after the sun yet never quite touching. It reminded him of a song he had heard so many years ago. It crooned of time passing, seasons fading, and a love that remained eternal. But more than that, it spoke of hope and dreams, something that Regis had long ago forgotten.

His duties and the crown upon his head were heavy. It was like carrying stone blocks on his feet and there was nothing he could do.

But the song, the melody, it sang to him once upon a time.

He had forgotten how to dance to it.

"Regis."

Regis closed his eyes and took in a deep breath and turned from the window, letting his fingertips rest upon the glass. "Do you remember the song?"

Everything was the matter. The Wall, the beautiful magical Wall his father had sacrificed his life to, was strong and yet... just outside it, his Kingdom was beginning to fall to pieces. He could feel the shattering of the brick and mortar like it was his own skin being chiseled away. It was only a matter of time...

Not much longer...

"There are reports that they have unleashed a Daemon upon the Glaive. There are indications that it is a WEAPON."

Regis flinched. A WEAPON... had the Niflheim empire no mercy? The WEAPONs of old had been hidden under the surface, their desiccated corpses fed back to the magic of Eos. They were not meant to be brought back from the darkness. They were meant to be forgotten by time, by Solheim's transgressions against the Planet.

But Niflheim wanted power. They had been hungry for something more than what they had, wanted what was not theirs. They thought themselves entitled to what the Gods had granted others, to what his father's father, and his father, and all the Kings of Lucis had worked and bartered and bled for. They had died for their Kingdom, just as he would.

Just as Noctis would.

"A WEAPON. I... I see. Thank you, Clarus." He turned back to the glass, resting his forehead against the coolness. Summer was coming soon. The heat would begin to cut into the night, but for now... it was perfect.

"I can almost hear it, Clar... but I cannot remember more than the opening notes... I am an old man. I... forget myself, sometimes. You should return to the Situation room. I'll be there shortly."

But Clarus did not leave.

"Regis—Reggy."

They both knew what it meant. Bowing low before a mad king or slitting his throat upon his own sword.

Which would they choose?

Regis felt hands, comforting and warm and everything he needed, against his shoulders. There was always something there, something between the two that did not need words. All they needed was the moment where skin met skin and they could push the terror behind them. A WEAPON... an endless monster of destruction and pain and torment, but Clarus was there with him. Clarus was always there.

Clarus reached down and slipped his fingers between Regis's, slowly pulling him around. It reminded Regis of how they would dance in the moonlight in Altissia. The way Clarus's feet moved, how he pressed his hand against the small of Regis's back, was something so comforting and familiar that it sent a spark through Regis. He was only fifty years old and yet the Crystal had eaten his youth. He felt like an eighty year old man with quaking knees and an aching back.

But with Clarus holding him as they slowly began to shuffle, a slow sway to a rhythm neither could hear, Regis felt like he was twenty again.

And in that moment as the moon peeked out from the terraces of the wall, Regis knew peace. Just a moment of peace... before the Daemon roars shattered the music in his mind.

"Is this how it went?" Regis knew his stance was wrong, that his gait was too short and that his timing was off, but Clarus only wrapped his arms around him tighter.

"It is, Reggy. It is."

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